


Hold On 'Til It's Over

by mickeym



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, One Night Stand, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-25
Updated: 2010-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:30:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym





	Hold On 'Til It's Over

You aren't real sure how you got here, like this, naked on your bed with this guy – Sam – looming over you, and you can't really bring yourself to care.

He has the most gorgeous eyes you've ever seen, slanted cats-eyes, exotic and unusual. Hazel, shifting to green, then back to an almost golden color, reminding you of those cats down in the rainforest, jaguars.

He looks kind of predatory in the weak light, moving so his muscles bunch and shift fluidly under his skin. He's skinny – could probably stand for decent meals on a regular basis, rather than the buffet food you know he eats constantly – but he's not scrawny, not by any means. When he pulls his shirt up over his head and flings it away, your mouth waters.

When he drops his jeans and his shorts, your cunt throbs like it knows what's coming.

He's on you in a second, no more blushing or stuttering like earlier, when you picked him up, lured in by those eyes and his dimples. You were thinking _sweet, hot college kid_, and now you're thinking _hungry animal_, and just the thought makes you shiver, goose bumps breaking out over you.

He's a biter, Sam, and you moan every time he sets his teeth into you – lip, neck, the rise of your breast. He bites and sucks on your nipples until they're hard and tight, aching and throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

"Easy, Sammy," you try, afraid you're going to burst into flames if he doesn't slow down just a little, and he draws back, the heat in his eyes going icy in a second flat.

"It's _Sam_," he says, and for just an instant you're afraid of something else altogether; maybe afraid of him, just a little. Then the heat is back, and he's kissing you, mouth moving against yours almost restlessly. "Sorry, it's just—that's—I don't—"

"S'okay, sorry. Family—ah! Family nickname?" God, his fingers should be registered lethal weapons. Or pure pleasure machines. You can't help but arch upward, trying to get them on you, in you, something.

"Something like that." There are stories hiding in his eyes; stories you'd love to hear – you think – and know you never will.

Then he's licking at your mouth, tasting you, devouring you, and you can't care about stories. All you can think about, care about, is here and now. Sam's mouth on you, his fingers brushing over wet curls, teasing the lips of your pussy with touches you can barely feel.

"So wet." Finally, _finally_ he stops teasing, dips one finger down, in, sliding it down between your lips. You growl in frustration when he stops again, brushing lightly over the tip of your clit, but not going anywhere. Just holding. "Want my fingers? Or my mouth?"

Heat spreads through you like a wildfire; you feel the blush move over you, scorching you. "Mouth?" It comes out like a question, but he nods and wiggles downward, brushing kisses across your belly, on your thighs, over the top of your mound.

He spreads you open and takes a long, slow lick, from your clit down to your asshole and back up again, and you jerk beneath him, shaking with how close you are, how much you _need_ to come, right now. He licks again, slow, broad strokes, then faster, flicking his tongue over and around your clit until it feels impossibly swollen, engorged with blood, throbbing on its own.

"Look at you," he whispers, the words hot and bright against your skin. Then he fits his mouth around you and sucks, pulling on you until you slide over the edge, hearing and vision whiting out as pleasure explodes through you. You think he's still sucking, licking, you don't know because all you can feel is your body spasming, jerking as you come over and over until you're drenched in sweat, your thighs slick with your juices and his spit, shaking with exhaustion. He cups you, opens you impossibly wide, licks at the wetness, and you tremble, body shivering through another orgasm.

He licks you again and again, tongue delving inside your cunt, flicking the smooth walls that quiver with each touch. Then out and back up to circle your clit, mouth working you until all you can do is gasp his name and go with it, let the pleasure engulf you, molten and heavy, pulling you under.

"Sam, Jesus—"

"Shhh," he says, tongue tracing your cunt, swollen lips, engorged clit, and you want him inside you so bad you ache. He slips one finger in you, then two, fucking upward, up, up, pushing, and then you're coming again, bearing down against the sensation. "God, you're freakin' incredible." His fingers slide out of you and back, a trail of slick following, and then he's circling your asshole, teasing the little pucker with the tiniest of pushes, just enough for you to feel the pressure. "Ever been fucked here?"

You shudder, groan when his finger breaches you, just the tip, just enough to make you want him everywhere. "Yes."

"Did you like it?" He pushes a little harder, a little deeper, and your body just _opens_ for him.

"Y-yeah."

He leans up, and his face shines, gleams from the wet all around his mouth, on his chin. "Can I?"

You swallow and nod, then tilt your head toward the night table beside your bed. "There's stuff-in there. Condoms. K-Y."

He smirks when you blush, but shifts again, long, lean body rippling with muscle. "What's a nice girl like you doing with K-Y?"

You don't think you can blush any harder, but you do. "I use it with a plug."

"Really like to get fucked in the ass, huh?" He's kneeling up, rolling a condom down over his dick, and holy cow, he's big. A lot bigger than the little plug you like to play with sometimes. You quiver at the thought of it buried inside you, anywhere, and then the time for thinking is through because Sam's covering you, big and warm, kissing you like he's starving for it.

You taste yourself on him, slick and salty, feel his heat when he presses his dick against your stomach.

He's gentle when he turns you, hands smoothing over your breasts, your stomach, your sides and back. His fingers are slick and cool pressing into you, such a contrast to the heat building inside you that it's almost a shock. You want to tell him to hurry, to forget prep, but he's bigger than any other guy you've been with – and most of them didn't want to do this.

It's so, so worth it when Sam presses you down and pushes in, slow but steady, only the tremble in his arms giving away his desire to go harder, faster. He does give into it when you groan, body relaxing and opening fully for him, and you shudder at how full and empty you feel, all at the same time.

You couldn't take any more, but your cunt throbs with emptiness, and you moan with it, wanting to feel him there, too.

"Sam—" You're hoarse, breathless, and he is too when he leans in, lips brushing your ear.

"Yeah?"

"I want—need—" You swallow, forcing the words out, blush heating your skin again. "Your fingers. Put your fingers in me, please?"

"Yeah. Oh, yeah." He shifts the two of you, moving so he's kneeling, with you spread across his lap, facing away. Legs spread open for him. Fingers in your cunt, cock in your ass, and he growls into your ear, "move, Shelley. Fuck yourself."

It's good, so fucking good, pleasure snapping at your nerve-endings with each tiny shift. You reach down and rub your clit, shaking through another orgasm that has him biting into your throat as you ride it out, his gasps bursts of heat against sensitive skin.

You're still coming when he shifts again, dumping you down onto the bed and fucking into you hard and fast, fingers clenched so tight on your hips you're sure there will be finger-shaped bruises there in the morning. He strains forward over and over, going faster, choppier, losing all rhythm until he stops, buried inside you and groaning, and you feel his dick throb, know he's coming.

For just a minute you wish he didn't have the condom on so you could feel that on the inside of your thighs, too, mixing with the other slick still there.

After he's pulled out you strip the condom off him and lick him clean, the sharp, bitter taste of semen spreading over your tongue. You suck until he's hard again, fucking forward into your mouth, and then he rolls another condom on and fucks you again, dick buried deep in your cunt this time, hips rocking and rolling until he's brought you to orgasm twice more.

Every single fiber of your body feels sore and tender by the time Sam's up and dressing to leave. You're wet with sweat, and a whole lot of other fluids, and you ache deep inside, back and front, each throb of your heart echoed in both places. Sam kisses you gently, almost tenderly, and lets himself out. You're almost asleep when you hear the door close, the _snick_ of the lock as it catches. You wonder, with the last brain cell still awake and functioning, if you'll see Sam at the restaurant tomorrow, and decide no, probably not.

You're not surprised at all when you don't.

~fin~


End file.
